


everything about you is so easy to love

by tonberryshortcake



Series: you can follow me [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Black Mage Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Fluff, Just all of the fluff and shenanigans, Named Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Post-Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers, Tumblr: FFXIVwrite2020, but sometimes super soft and mushy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:40:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 10,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26269615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tonberryshortcake/pseuds/tonberryshortcake
Summary: A series of fluffy drabbles about Warrior of Light, Salena Jaya, for @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast's September writing challenge ❤️(Takes place between 5.0 and 5.3 so it does contain some minor Shadowbringers spoilers.)---#21 Foible / #22 Argy bargy / #24 BeamAlisaie knows they love each other as family, but over the years Salena and Alphinaud’s rows have become a spectator sport for the rest of the Scions, and sitting in the audience a particular favorite pastime of hers.It’s been a tiring day. She deserves a bit of entertainment.
Relationships: G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Original Character(s), G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light, Warrior of Light & Thancred Waters
Series: you can follow me [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2072769
Comments: 12
Kudos: 53
Collections: #FFxivWrite2020 Final Fantasy 30 Day Writing Challenge, Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched Bookclub FFXIV-Writes 2020 Collection





	1. Crux

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all I swear it'll be a Christmas miracle if I manage to complete a single prompt on time but I figured I'd give this a shot anyway. Tags to be updated as I roll.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #1: Crux - n. The basic, central, or critical point or feature.

She takes another sip of coffee and begins to lace up her boots. Even with the night restored, there’s plenty of work to be done at the Crystarium, and despite the long day of labor the Crystalline Mean promises, Salena will freely admit she enjoys this respite such as it is, trading battle and blood for crafting and gathering, at least for a while.

She’s packing her bag when she hears a tentative rapping at her door and is surprised to find Ryne on the other side.

“Good morning, my dear,” Salena smiles, but at the girl’s uneasy expression hastens to add, “are you alright?”

“Oh—yes! Yes, of course. I was just hoping to ask a favor of you…”

Salena steps back and gestures for Ryne to follow her into the room, who is nervously fidgeting with a lock of red hair. “It’s about Thancred. He is okay, I promise,” she's quick to add, “I just want to do something nice for him. He’s been somewhat out of sorts after our time in the Empty and he deserves a break. I thought maybe... I could bake him something,” she finishes shyly.

“What a sweet and thoughtful idea! What can I do to help?”

The young woman seems relieved at Salena’s approval and continues, “I actually overheard you talking with some of the Crystarium’s artisans the other day. I hadn’t realized you were such an accomplished culinarian. I was hoping you could teach me something.”

“Of course, I’d love to, but I’m afraid I have an engagement with Katliss this morning and have little time to spare.”

“That’s alright! Maybe I could borrow your kitchen so I can keep this a surprise?”

“Sure," she smiles warmly, "I think we can manage that.”

As upsetting as everything about her initial arrival to the First had been, Salena has to admit she’s always been grateful for her generous suite at the Pendants, positively extravagant compared to the modest inn rooms to which she was accustomed, functioning kitchenette most of all.

Salena walks over to the table and grabs a leather-bound journal from among the scattered tomes and flips the pages until she reaches a simple recipe for maple cinnamon cookies. She hands over the journal and begins to talk through the process of creaming butter and sugar and measuring dry ingredients. She pulls out mixing bowls and spoons and points out the larder while she lectures to Ryne who is eagerly absorbing every piece of information proffered.

“I’m afraid I must get going now. Will you be alright on your own?”

“Yes, quite!” the girl beams. “Thank you so much for everything!”

Salena gives her a quick squeeze and peck in the forehead and Ryne grins in excited anticipation.

“Of course, little bird. If you have any problems just fetch the manager. He can help or send for me. I’m never too far away for you.” And with that the Warrior of Light and Darkness departs.

*

Ryne decides to present Thancred’s gift to him as a family affair later that day, summoning the Scions to the Wandering Stairs that afternoon.

The twins are the first to arrive, who waste no time praising Ryne’s gesture, shortly followed by Urianger, the Exarch, and Thancred himself. Salena is the last to arrive. 

She feels a bloom of warmth in her chest at the scene before her. There on the table is a basket of the lumpiest most uneven cookies she’s ever seen, but they’re warm and fragrant and lovingly presented, and the swell of pride in Thancred’s eyes is undeniable.

With the group convened, Ryne invites everyone to sample a cookie and watches with eager anticipation, her expression deflating at the chorus of coughs and grunts. To their credit, each Scion makes a valiant attempt to school their expression with varying degrees of success.

“Oh no, what’s wrong?”

Urianger tries first. “I applaud thine efforts, dearest. Truly ‘tis no small matter to dabble in the culinary arts. Your maiden voyage warrants commendation. Would you not agree?” he asks turning to the rest of the assembled party.

Thancred smiles and nods, clearly struggling to swallow his bite. The twins each give an overly enthusiastic thumbs-up. G’raha smiles meekly and offers a half-hearted, “mmhmm.”

Ryne is unconvinced. She looks up to Salena who has yet to try one and shrugs in return. “Naught to do but sample them yourself I suppose.” The Warrior of Darkness and grabs two cookies from the tray, handing one to the girl.

“Gods, they’re terrible!” Ryne exclaims.

Salena can’t help but agree. They’re impossibly dry and bitter and she wraps her arms around Ryne’s shoulders when she sees the girl’s quivering bottom lip. “My love,” she chokes out, “did you follow the recipe I gave you?”

“Of course! To the letter!”

“...and you used sugar?” G’raha dares to ask, a scarlet ear twitching nervously.

“Well...” Ryne puts a hand to her chin in thought. “I couldn’t find maple sugar in your pantry, so I used the white sugar in the canister beside the stove.”

“Oh, little bird, I think we’ve come to the crux of the problem,” Salena says, biting back a laugh. “I don’t have any white sugar. That was salt.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternative title: "Ryne bakes failcookies and Thancred loves them anyway" ❤️


	2. Sway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #2: Sway - v. move or cause to move slowly or rhythmically backward and forward or from side to side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Death to perfectionism! Let’s roll, prompt 2!

G’raha is waiting for her at the bottom of the steps to the Crystal Tower, smiling as Salena approaches.

“Good evening, Warrior,” he greets her cheekily.

“Good evening, Exarch,” she replies in kind. “May I inquire as to the occasion? I did not expect to receive a summons this many bells past supper.”

“I do apologize for the late hour but I have something of a surprise for you.”

“Oh?”

He gives a hum in confirmation, his crimson eyes sparkling in the moonlight as he holds his palm out. Salena accepts his outstretched hand, twining their fingers together. Oh, how she missed this feeling. The bloom of warmth in her chest, the thrill of even the most innocent touches, the flutter of anticipation in her belly.

It’s late enough that very few people are to be seen. No one is clamoring for the attention of the Crystal Exarch or the Warrior of Darkness. Tonight they can just be G’raha and Salena, enjoying a peaceful walk through the Crystarium. 

He finally leads her out into an area beside the gardens. She has managed to keep her curiosity in check thus far and is rewarded when she sees a plush quilted blanket laid out on the grass with a woven basket and bottle of wine carefully displayed. 

“A moonlit picnic,” she breathes, grinning widely. Nights spent together under a Mor Dhona moon flash through her mind. “You spoil me, G’raha,” she says, ducking her head.

He meets her eyes and murmurs, “No less than you deserve.”

She holds his gaze for another moment before turning back to the blanket. He gestures for her to sit down and opens the basket, revealing an elegant spread of fresh fruit and chocolates.

The stars watch as they share the wine and indulge in delicate desserts, as they speak of nothing and everything, as they reminisce of times on the Source and look to the future of the First.

Eventually the conversation lulls and they fall into a peaceful quiet. Salena’s head tilts back and she marvels at the night sky as G’raha watches her, admiring her cobalt eyes glittering in the moonlight, the raven locks tumbling down her shoulders, the slope of her nose and curve of her jaw. He muses for a moment before making a decision. He stands and holds out his hand. 

“Would my Warrior indulge me in a dance?”

The corner of her mouth quirks up. “You wish to dance without music?”

“With you, I am never without music,” he says as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “With you, I have reason to sing.”

Salena’s breath catches and all words escape her. She nods, placing her hand in his to stand.  
G’raha’s hand wraps around her waist and she can feel every graze of his fingertips like fire. His voice is quiet but sure and he begins to sing.

_At last  
My love has come along  
My lonely days are over  
And life is like a song  
_

Her fingers curl into the fabric of his robes at his shoulder and she steps in closer.

_I found a dream  
That I could speak to  
A dream that I can call my own  
_

She lays her head on his chest and closes her eyes, relishing in every sensation—his right hand splayed across the small of her back and his left wrapped around her fingers; the steady thrum of his heartbeat and the vibration against her cheek as he serenades her. Together they gently sway their hips and dance lazy circles in the grass and Salena can hardly remember a time she felt so at peace.

_You smiled, you smiled  
Oh and then the spell was cast  
And here we are in heaven  
For you are mine  
At last_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song lyrics are from “At Last” by Etta James ❤️


	3. Muster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #3: Muster - v. To gather, summon, or rouse.

That she’s late is the first thing he notices.

Once she makes her way to the Pendants’ communal dining hall for breakfast, that she opts for a cup of tea instead of coffee is the next thing he notices.

When he manages a glance at her face from beneath the rim of her large straw hat, that her eyes are glassy and her nose bright red is what confirms his suspicions. 

“Salena...” Thancred begins, like a parent lecturing a child, “are you ill?”

“Of course not,” she answers indignantly, wincing at the scratch in her throat.

He gives her a thoroughly unimpressed look. “Salena, darling, my dearest friend, you’re positively dripping. You look a moment away from passing out into your plate.”

She resists the urge to sniffle. “For your information, Warriors of Light and/or Darkness do not _get ill_. They march into battle and defend the innocent. They—” she grabs a handkerchief from her trousers’ pocket and sneezes.

“Uh huh. Even Warriors need to rest.” He takes note of her hatchet and work gloves. “Whatever expedition you had planned for today can wait.”

“I have very important field work to attend to and—” 

“And you’re sick.”

She crosses her arms and scowls before having to grab her handkerchief again. 

“Alright, that’s it. Alisaie, please summon the Exarch. Salena is going to bed.” He rises from his seat and rounds the table to where Salena is sitting.

“No! Don’t do that. I’m fine!” she calls to Alisaie who is already out of earshot so she turns back to Thancred. “He’ll just fuss and the situation calls for a distinct lack of fussing.”

“If you don’t retire to your room voluntarily I’ll have no choice but to force you.”

“Ha, ‘force me.’ I’m telling you, I’m fine,” she scoffs then lets out a loud surprised squawk as Thancred grabs her around the middle and hauls her over his shoulder. She splutters incoherently and wriggles in vain. 

The manager of the suites raises an eyebrow as they pass and Thancred calmly waves him off. “Everything is fine, my friend. The Warrior of Darkness just needs some rest.”

Her voice is hoarse and strained. “I DO NOT NEED REST. THANCRED WATERS, IF YOU DO NOT PUT ME DOWN THIS INSTANT—”

“Then what, my dear?”

Salena sighs miserably and surrenders. 

“As I thought.”

Thancred pushes open the door to her rooms and plops her on the edge of her bed.

“Bloody hells, woman, you need a godsdamned break. Take the opportunity whenever you can.”

There’s a firm rapping on the door before it opens and G’raha steps inside cautiously, looking back and forth between the two contentious Hyur. 

“Alisaie demanded my presence urgently. I understand the Warrior of Darkness has fallen ill.”

Salena rolls her eyes as Thancred claps his hands together in satisfaction. “Excellent, you’re here. Now you can deal with her. I’ll leave you to it,” he concludes, departing with a wave, closing the door behind him.

“G’raha,” she whines, “you must understand, I have things to do!”

“Things?”

“Yes, things! I am a botanist and I have very important... botany things to do.”

He approaches her and smirks. “And what ‘very important botany things’ are on the agenda today, hm?”

She glares at him before looking away sheepishly and mumbling something under her breath.

“Sorry, I’m afraid I didn’t quite catch that,” he needles playfully.

“Fine. I said Qeshi-Rae is having me harvest animal droppings in Lakeland.”

“Animal drop— what?!”

“She’s searching for evidence of Samael!”

He stares for a moment in disbelief before answering dryly. “Naturally. Whatever shall we do if you don’t traipse into the woods and collect nonexistent excrement this very moment.”

She sniffles and pouts and he chuckles sympathetically. “You sound like death, my love. I dare say you’d be hard pressed to muster the energy to leave this bed let alone conduct field research into mythical beasts.”

Salena wipes her nose with her handkerchief. “Perhaps you’re right,” she sighs in defeat. 

“Come now,” he says. He sets aside her hat and gloves and kneels to begin unlacing her boots. “I’ve sent for soup and medicine to be brought up but for now you need sleep.” 

“Raha please, I don’t want to get you sick too…”

“My constitution may flag if I venture too far from the Tower, but I haven’t been ill in decades. I’m almost as much crystal as I am man at this point and as it happens, crystal does not catch cold.” He slips off his own shoes and climbs into her bed sitting up against the headboard. He holds open his arms expectantly but Salena looks at him with reluctance. “Just come here, you mad thing.”

She finally relents and crawls toward him. She leans into him, pressing her back flush against his chest as he wraps his arms around her. Relaxing into his embrace, her breathing is soon deep and even. He presses a kiss into her hair and smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hair kisses are one of my favorite things ❤️


	4. Clinch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #4: Clinch - v. To settle definitely and conclusively; make final.

The sun has barely cracked the horizon and already Salena is breathing heavily, rivulets of sweat dripping from her brow. She sneers at the faceless straw-stuffed dummy before her. It’s mocking her. She’s sure of it.

With her mage’s staff, her movements are fluid and elegant as she deftly pulls aether from the air in a beautifully choreographed dance. But even after three weeks of early morning practice sessions under Thancred’s tutelage, the gunblade still feels heavy and awkward in her hands. 

He watches her from the side, arms crossed and expression stern. “Again.”

She resets her stance and raises the blade again, clumsily stepping through a sequence of swings and strikes only to manage yet another poorly aimed and ineffective final blow at her target.

She growls with frustration and petulantly kicks the dummy. Thancred raises an eyebrow and opens his mouth. 

“Yes, yes I know,” she interrupts before he can speak. She backs up, shakes out her limbs, and resets her stance once again. She refuses to be brought low by this witless manikin.

Taking a deep meditative breath, she begins once more. Step, swing, shift, strike, step, slice. She loses herself in the raw energy of her rage, not caring about technique, just letting her movements flow like the currents of a river. Her fingertips begin to crackle with electricity.

“Salena…” Thancred scolds but she doesn’t care. All that matters now is to clinch her victory.

She wickedly slashes the blade at the dummy’s ‘neck,’ reaching her other hand to the sky as though she were yanking down on a cord, summoning a massive column of flames to the earth and reducing the dummy to ash.

Thancred pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head as the few other Crystarium soldiers in the training yard shout in surprise. 

“There,” Salena pants, throwing her gunblade to the ground and marching off with a salute. “I win.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a fully realized Black Mage, Salena is firmly of the belief that most (if not all) problems can be solved by setting them on fire.


	5. Matter of Fact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #5: Matter of fact - n. Something of a factual nature, as an actual occurrence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t remember if the shoebill starts hanging out at the Pendants before 5.3 but for the sake of this chapter, he does ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

She had hoped to spend the day with G’raha, but duty called him away before they’d even had a chance to sit for breakfast. Not that she blamed him of course. Salena waved away his apologies for there was nothing to forgive. They had agreed that for this to work, they would have to respect those facets of each other’s lives that didn’t quite belong to themselves.

Left without plans, she set about looking for ways to occupy her time and ended up enjoying a lazy exploration of the Crystarium, visiting the Cabinet and the Gallery, chatting with Moren and Chessamile and Katliss, and stocking up on ingredients in the Markets.

After a pleasant and quiet afternoon, her arms now laden with all manner of books and bags, she notices it’s nearing time for supper and returns to her suite to freshen up. She’s putting things away when she’s startled by a shock of periwinkle feathers and stern eyes watching her from the balcony.

Salena unceremoniously drops the remaining items in her hands on the table and returns the shoebill’s gaze. It doesn’t stop staring. She can’t fathom why this bird would be here, in the city, on her sill of places, but she swears it looks as if it were waiting for her.

She walks to the window and pops open the latch. It doesn’t appear to be injured, she thinks to herself, giving the bird a once over. _He_ doesn’t appear injured, she corrects without understanding why as she looks into his keen, expressive eyes. 

“Are you hungry?” The two cock their heads in unison and Salena hums. She realizes this should feel more odd than it does but files that thought away for another time.

She takes a step back but the shoebill doesn’t follow, just waits on the balcony. She retrieves a package wrapped in brown paper from the icebox and lays it open among the flowers at his feet. He looks down at the fish and then back to Salena’s face with an unblinking stare. 

“Go on, eat it. I personally prefer it pan fried with lemon but for a bird such as yourself I imagine this is better.” He nudges the fish with his bill before devouring it in one gulp. “You’re lucky, you know. Not everyone in this building would be so generous with their seafood,” she smirks.

And so it goes. It’s not always the same hour, but invariably at some point every day, she finds the shoebill patiently waiting for her on the balcony. It’s not long before he starts accepting her invitation to come inside, perching on the table while enjoying his daily meal. 

She’s never purchased so much fish in her life and gives a silent thanks every time the fishmonger lets her leave without asking too many questions.

“You know I’ve been feeding you for days and you haven’t told me your name,” she casually mentions during one visit. He cocks his head, giving her the same keen stare as always and she shrugs.

Her avian companion never offers any response save his undivided attention, but she finds herself talking to him all the same, absently recounting what she’s seen or done or plans to do that day, brushing off the fact that it feels incredibly natural to do so. 

It’s been several days of this routine when Salena finds herself roused one morning by a tapping. Everything slowly comes into focus—the early sunlight filtering through the curtains, the warmth pressed against her back, and the arm draped across her waist—and she realizes the noise is coming from the balcony window. 

When she tries to delicately extricate herself, G’raha curls his arm around her tighter and grumbles into her hair. 

She chuckles and turns toward him, giving a kiss on the forehead. “I’ll be right back, my love.” He eases his hold on her with a sleepy smile and she climbs out of bed and pads across the room. “I just need to fetch his breakfast.”

G’raha’s eyes shoot open as the words sink in. “Whose breakfast?”

Salena releases the latch on the window before turning to the icebox. The miq’ote—now wide awake—sits up at the noise, watching curiously as the shoebill flutters into the room and perches on the table, offering nothing but his customary stern expression. 

“Do you... do you know this bird?” G’raha asks tentatively. 

Salena takes a seat and unfolds the brown paper. “As a matter of fact,” she says quietly looking at the shoebill fondly, “he’s an old friend.”


	6. Nonagenarian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #7: Nonagenarian - n. A person who is from 90 to 99 years old.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m a pretty slow writer so I’ve decided to skip day 6 (choose your own/extra credit/free day) and move on to 7.
> 
> On another note, I originally set out to just write domestic WoLxExarch fluff but Salena’s bestie, Thancred, keeps telling me he has things to say.
> 
> Follow up to “Clinch.”

Her face is flushed and the apples of her cheeks ache from laughing. Salena slaps another card on the table, rattling their mugs, and she cackles in delight at Thancred’s groan as she wins yet another round.

He picks up where their conversation left off as he shuffles the deck for the next game. “Would you please just try again? I promise it’s for your own good.”

She scowls at him without heat. “And to what end? I have no talent for the gunblade.” She takes a sip of mead and smacks her lips. “And to be honest, I’m not sure I’m welcome in the training yard anymore. ‘Excessive destruction of property,’ or what-have-you,” she mutters.

“Only because you keep setting the training dummies on fire,” he laughs, shaking his head. He leans forward, resting his weight on his forearms, and tries another approach. “Darling, you are the most stubborn and determined person I know. In ways that don’t entirely make sense at times! How does this not apply to melee combat?”

“Here, I’ll tell you why,” she starts, drunkenly waving her hand.

“Oh, this should be good,” Thancred replies under his breath, rocking back in his chair. 

“No, no, hear me out,” she shushes him playfully, putting her cards down to pause the game. “I have no plans to perish anytime soon—“

“Naturally.”

“—and as such one day I’ll inevitably be some frail and wrinkled nonagenarian with a bum shoulder and arthritic knees and even _attempting_ to swing a blade will kill me faster than any enemy could. But—but!” she says louder, holding up a finger as Thancred tries to interrupt her. “I will always have my magic.”

“First, nothing about you is frail,” he says rolling his eyes. He slaps another card on the table and picks up his mug of ale. “And second, in the intervening 60-some-odd years, what if you’re ambushed in close quarters? You must needs be quick! At least _some_ martial training is imperative.” 

“I know my way around a lance, I’ll have you know!”

Thancred chokes on his drink and Salena blushes furiously as the word sink in.

“No, I didn’t mean—“ but she’s far enough into her cups that she cuts herself off. “Actually you know what, maybe I do.” Thancred barks a loud and genuine laugh.

The game pauses again until they can catch their breath. Salena wipes at her eyes and sighs fondly. “Alright, fine, I’ll try again. I’ll even endeavor to keep my wanton destructive tendencies in check. Just for you.”

Thancred grins triumphantly. “Much obliged. Now play a card, dear grandmother. I do believe it’s your turn.”


	7. Clamor/Tooth and Nail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #8: Clamor - n. A loud and confused noise, especially that of people shouting vehemently.
> 
> Prompt #12: Tooth and nail - adv. With all one's resources or energy; fiercely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one really got away from me. It’s probably the longest single piece I’ve written and I actually ended up combining two prompts, but I think I like how it turned out.
> 
> A little less fluffy. Contains spoilers/references to post-ARR/Heavensward events.

“Oh, Gods no, that’s a terrible idea.”

G’raha blanches at Alisaie’s reaction. When he tracked her down in the Musica Universalis to discuss celebrating Salena’s upcoming nameday, he did not expect his intentions to be received so poorly.

“Nothing extravagant, I assure you. I know how she feels about grand gestures. I mean simply a quiet evening with the Scions: a nice dinner, a bottle of wine—“

“Even worse!” she interrupts.

At his taken aback expression, she sighs and continues, “I—please just trust me when I say that it would be more considerate of you to allow the day to pass without mention.”

He waits for her to elaborate. He can see in her expression she is wrestling with what to say next but she finally settles on, “Perhaps you should ask her directly.”

*

He finds Salena in the Crystalline Mean hunched over a large craftsman’s table with all manner of tools scattered about.

Her face breaks into a wide grin when she sees him approach and his heart stutters in his chest. “May I have a word?”

“Of course.” She rises from her stool and leads him to an unoccupied corner of the workshop. Looking around and seeing no one she wraps her arms around his neck and gives him a tender kiss on the lips. She tilts her head back and gives him a flirtatious smirk. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I must say, you have now put me of a mind of stolen kisses and clandestine trysts,” he murmurs as he gently strokes his thumb across her cheek, “but in truth I’ve come because I just had the strangest conversation with Alisaie.”

“Oh?”

“It was meant to be a surprise actually. I had hoped to enlist her help in planning a dinner to celebrate your nameday but she was… not receptive to the idea.”

G’raha is startled by how her demeanor immediately shifts. Her discomfort is nearly tangible as she stiffens and pulls back. “Oh, yes, well,” she stutters. “I’m afraid she has the right of it. I do appreciate the thought but I’d rather not do anything if it's all the same to you.” She gives a small smile but it doesn’t reach her eyes. 

His brow furrows in confusion. She clears her throat and gestures awkwardly. “There’s just, you know, an abundance of fuss and clamor in my life as it is. I see no need to add to it.” She gives his hand a quick squeeze and takes another step back before he can respond. “I’m afraid I must get back to work. See you tonight?”

“Yes, of course,” he answers absently, watching her return to her stool, feeling more than a little confused and concerned. 

*

His next stop is the Amaro Launch where he intercepts Alphinaud returning from a visit to Eulmore.

It does not escape G’raha’s notice that his face betrays the same discomfort as Salena’s as he broaches the topic once again.

“Ah, yes. She is of the habit of letting her nameday pass without comment. I believe she prefers it in fact.”

Dissatisfied with this answer, he entreats further. “Clearly, but why? I know she’s a private person but the way she and Alisaie reacted you would think I was planning a gala brimming of pomp and ceremony. I simply just wish to do something nice for the woman I love but it would seem there’s a critical piece of information to which I am not privy—“

Alphinaud clears his throat and looks away. “Yes, well, if she has already made her wishes known, then I do suggest you let the matter rest.”

G’raha can hear the sadness and perhaps guilt coloring his words but accepts the dismissal and takes his leave.

*

He refuses to let the matter rest, however. Instead he sets out to find Thancred. As one of Salena’s closest friends, he must know of whatever it is the others seem to be tiptoeing around. 

Luckily Thancred is easy to find, sitting at a small table at the Wandering Stairs with a half-finished meal and a book.

G’raha greets him as he approaches and asks, “Might I trouble you for advice, my friend?” 

“Of course.” Thancred closes his book and motions to the chair across from him.

“I’ve gathered that this is a somewhat delicate topic but I have yet to understand why,” he starts as he takes a seat. “As I am certain you already know, Salena’s nameday approaches and—“

“Ah, of course,” he interrupts, nodding knowingly. “Alisaie mentioned you might seek me out. Really Salena should’ve explained but I cannot say I’m surprised.”

“Explained—?”

“You wish to know why she doesn’t celebrate her nameday. There is a reason and it’s not because she doesn’t wish to create a fuss, as true as that may be.” He sets aside his book and leans forward resting his forearms on the table. “You’re familiar with Salena’s...journey to Ishgard?”

“Of course, though many details of the events leading up to her arrival are somewhat fuzzy in the recorded histories, I’m afraid.”

“I figured as much. To the point, following her victory over Vishap, Salena had been invited to dine privately with the Sultana and other heads of state. The wine served at the fete had been laced with a toxin as part of a plot orchestrated by traitors among the Crystal Braves and Ul’dahn Syndicate. The Sultana was poisoned and our Warrior was framed for regicide. Of course the Sultana survived the attempt and the truth would come to light eventually but in the ensuing chaos, the Scions were scattered. To this day, Salena is painfully guilt-stricken she had to leave us behind as she and Alphinaud were forced to flee the city on foot and set out for Coerthas to seek asylum.”

G’raha listens attentively, enraptured with the story, but he can’t help cutting in. “Right, and Count Edmont’s account begins shortly thereafter, but I don’t understand how that relates—“

“Those events unfolded on her twenty-third nameday.”

Oh.

_Oh._

“So when I proposed dinner and wine…”

“Indeed. Our dear friend already has a complex about receiving attention and accolades, but to salt the wound as it were, she cannot bear to celebrate her nameday as it also marks the anniversary of a day she considers one of her greatest failings. The day she wasn’t fast enough or clever enough or strong enough. A fat load of gobshite, I know,” he adds quickly as G’raha opens his mouth to protest, “but there you have it.”

“So what do I do? You honestly say nothing at all to her on her nameday?”

“Quite. Though she makes it easy as she always makes herself scarce for the day.”

“Where does she go?”

“I believe I am the only one besides Salena herself who knows, and I only tell you this—in confidence—because I can see how much you care for her.”

G’raha nods and waits patiently as Thancred takes a breath.

“She prays. She cloaks her identity under a hood or helm or some such and then finds a church—somewhere small, whatever she can find wherever her duties have taken her—and prays. Then she’ll clean headstones, gather flowers, repair leaks in the roof, anything to keep her hands from being idle.”

He sighs and taps his fingers on the cover of his book. “I’ve spoken with her before about this poison she carries with her, but I think some part of her will always be seeking atonement.”

G’raha nods slowly and looks down, lost in thought.

*

It’s not yet time for him and Salena to meet for supper but he goes to her anyway. He finds her where he expected, at the top of the watchtower sitting cross-legged and watching the sun as it begins its descent, painting the sprawling forest before her with its orange light.

He sits down beside her and for a time they just exist together. After a few minutes, she breaks the silence. She keeps her gaze fixed on the sunset and says with a wry smirk, “I got an earful from Thancred earlier.”

“Oh! I’m sorry—“

“No, no it’s quite alright. I earned that one.” She turns toward him with a sad smile and reaches for his hand. “I’m the one who should apologize. I ought to have been more forthright.”

He interlaces their fingers and puts their hands in his lap. “You don’t owe me, or anyone else for that matter, an explanation. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“You bear no fault. You had no way of knowing.” She turns again but this time to lay her head on his shoulder. She sighs deeply. “It all just gets to be a bit much sometimes, you know?”

“I do know.” He presses his lips to the top of her head. “I also know that the woman I hold most dear has a heart without equal. That she fights tooth and nail for those she loves and for those she has never met. That she _feels_ so deeply and so strongly, she accepts responsibility for evil deeds carried out by evil men when such burden is not hers to bear.

“And I also know,” he continues, pressing another kiss into her hair, “that celebrating joyous occasions and recognizing happy days does not erase or dishonor the memory of those who are no longer here to see them.”

She hums thoughtfully. 

“I had an idea if I may. Should you wish to spend your nameday in solitude, you shall hear no argument from me, however I thought perhaps we could visit Holminster Switch together.”

She lifts her head to look at him. “The village north of Lakeland?”

“The very same. The efforts to rebuild following the destruction wrought by the Lightwarden continues. I imagine they would be glad for extra hands for a day.”

Salena hums again with a small smile and returns her head to his shoulder. “Yes, alright. I think I should like that. And Raha?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

“Anything for you, my love.”


	8. Lush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #9: Lush - adj. Growing vigorously especially with luxuriant foliage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not entirely sure what this is. I’m just stoked that I finally had an idea and words came out.
> 
> Takes place right after Eden’s Verse: Furor.

Salena faces the sky as it tears open, tilting her head back to welcome the torrents of rain into her outstretched arms. Not just rain— _new_ rain. Droplets falling to the earth for the very first time.

Thancred quirks an eyebrow at her rapturous expression. She’s not sure she could explain the feeling if she tried. The simultaneous wonderment and mourning of beginning and end; the exhilaration of creation magicks manifesting the deification of fire and wind from her mind’s eye, and the grief of witnessing Raktapaksa’s aether dissolve with a final killing blow. 

She’s spent so much of her time as Hydaelyn’s Chosen dispatching zealots and their wayward summons, yet now she finds herself here as both worshipper and worshipped, hands raised in exaltation, drenched in a baptism of her very own making. 

Thancred approaches her and takes Salena’s hand, asking the question again with his eyes. 

Are you okay?

She looks around at the wasteland before them. It’s becoming easier to imagine what it must have looked like once, before it was bereft of aether and given its moniker of the Empty. She imagines crystalline blue rivers and lush rolling greenery and _life_. With every victory she claims, the transformation is undeniable—the land is becoming less desolate and less barren and, with any luck, another step closer to what it once was.

She meets Thancred’s gaze with a small smile and nods.

Yes. I’m okay.


	9. Avail/Ultracrepidarian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #10: Avail - v. To be of use or value to; profit; advantage.
> 
> Prompt #11: Ultracrepidarian - adj. Noting or pertaining to a person who criticizes, judges, or gives advice outside the area of his or her expertise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in under 24 hours?! Unreal.
> 
> I ended up combining two prompts again but I’m just glad more words came out.
> 
> Also, this is first time I’ve seen the word ultracrepidarian, so I’m not sure I used it quite right but I’ve made my peace with it. 
> 
> On to the silliness!

It’s been a hectic and bustling evening but as always he’s thankful for the work. Even better on this particular evening, the large ornate doors swing open and the Warrior of Darkness makes her usual unassuming entrance. Salena’s visits to the Beehive are always the highlight of Kai-Shirr’s day. Glad that he’s not otherwise occupied for the moment, he goes to greet her by the bar as she sets a crate down behind the counter.

“Always a delight to see you, Miss Jaya. What have you got for us today?” he hears Anfrigg ask with a grin as he approaches.

“Another Kholusian cuisine set,” she answers with a tired smile. “I hear you’re expanding your menu. Thought some extra cookware might come in handy.”

Kai-Shirr peers into the box. “Blimey! The craftsmanship on these! I swear, ain’t nothing you can’t do, my friend.”

“Now that we’ve got the airship up and running, it’s a much simpler matter of getting goods here from the Crystarium,” she says happily, chuckling at the flattery. They continue to chat, Salena sharing details of her other ongoing projects and Kai-Shirr and Anfrigg regaling her with the latest news from Eulmore, when they distantly hear an exasperated voice.

“Girl. Girl!”

The voice is now less distant. Salena halts mid-sentence to see a mystel she vaguely recognizes but cannot name. He’s older, heavier, draped in fine robes and jewelry and all the trappings of a man of the (former) elite, and as far as she can tell, speaking to her directly.

“Wicked white, girl, what does it take to get some service around here.”

She and Anfrigg turn to each other in confusion. She looks at his smart vest and slacks, then down at her own grimy trousers and work boots.

“We’ve been waiting ages for our meals. We’re famished,” the man rants dramatically, theatrically waving his arms. “Now be a good girl and do hurry up with our order.” He pauses and gives her a salacious once over. “And perhaps if you’re quick about it and give us a shake you’ll earn yourself a nice tip.”

That rattles Anfrigg from his slack-jawed disbelief. “Oi, do you have any idea who you’re talking to, you ultracrepidarian, old fool—“

Salena gently waves him off. “No, no.” She turns back to the older mystel, looking him up and down, a plan formulating in her mind. She puts her hands on the counter and leans forward. “Sir, why don’t you get on back to your table and I’ll take care of you,” she says in a sultry tone, sliding her tongue across her teeth and giving him a wink. “Bring you something tasty.” 

“Humph, that’s more like it,” he says with a victorious smirk, eyeing the other men behind the bar before turning on his heel.

Once he’s out of earshot, Kai-Shirr turns to her aghast. “Bloody hells, Salena, what was that all about?!” he exclaims, blushing furiously.

“I think you’ve traumatized the poor boy,” Anfrigg laughs. “You know,” he adds absently, “I’m not convinced that man even ordered anything.” 

“No matter, I have it in hand. We must needs avail ourselves of opportunities when they arise, my friends,” she says slyly. “Now tell me, what’s the most expensive thing on the menu.”

*

Salena finds the aristocratic mystel easily, seated at a booth in the middle of the hall, accompanied by another man adorned with the same trappings of wealth.

She approaches their table bearing a large tray containing several plates of oysters and steak and dessert, along with two bottles of top shelf liquor.

The companion notices her first and splutters at the sight of the sheer quantity of food, tallying the exorbitant bill in his mind. “Wicked white, you silly girl, we don’t want all—“ His gaze goes from the tray to her face and his eyes widen in horror. “Aren’t you the Warrior of Darkness?!”

This manages to capture the attention of the tables nearby and several guests turn their heads to catch a glimpse of the scene unfolding. Salena smiles sweetly and sets the tray on the table. 

Recognition settles in the face of the first mystel and she watches his entitlement morph into embarrassment. He begins fidgeting nervously, clearly eager to escape. “Very kind of you, Miss, but please don’t trouble yourself further—“

“Oh, but it’s no trouble at all,” she says loud enough to be heard over the music which successfully garners more attention. “Your ongoing patronage and generous support of this fine establishment is most appreciated.

“And Sir, I wish to thank you for your offer earlier,” she continues even louder, her saccharine smile growing even wider, stepping back with her arms open. “Ladies and gentleman, let’s all show our gratitude to our guest here who has pledged a very—” she looks him directly in the eye, “— _very_ significant donation to Eulmore’s rebuilding efforts.”

Salena’s impromptu audience joins in her applause as the man's expression grows increasingly pained. “I will personally see to it that Mayor Chai-Nuzz knows all about your charitable contributions.”

He gives an uncomfortable nod and wave to the crowd as Salena takes her leave of the table.

She walks back to the bar and finds Kai-Shirr dazedly shaking his head and Anfrigg doubled over in laughter. “Like I told you,” she says with a devilish smirk, “we must needs avail ourselves of opportunities when they arise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, the Warrior of Darkness wants to see YOUR manager.


	10. Part

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #14: Part - n. a portion or division of a whole that is separate or distinct; piece, fragment, fraction, or section.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, a little less fluffy. CW for my poor WoL’s low self-esteem.
> 
> Also contains brief mention of canonical character deaths from HW and SB.

She wakes in a cold sweat, shaking and gasping for air like a woman drowning, panicking when she feels something tighten around her.

Salena struggles against the hold until she manages to take stock of her surroundings, finally calming as she recognizes her own bedroom and the voice offering gentle reassurances in her ear.

“Shh, it’s okay, my love. It’s okay. I’m here.” He cards his fingers through her hair, the cold of the crystal further grounding her to wakefulness. 

She relaxes against G’raha’s chest, closing her eyes and letting out a long breath. She focuses on the sensation of his fingertips and the steady rise and fall of his chest, trying to match the rhythm with her own breathing.

“I know you’re preparing to apologize so I shall tell you now not to bother.”

She huffs a quiet laugh and he smiles against her hair at the achievement. 

“May I ask what thoughts plague you?”

She considers for a moment. “It is a strange thing that I have dreamt before,” she says quietly, “though it changes some whenever I do.”

“Will you tell me about it?” he asks.

“It always starts the same. I’m on a dais. Just me, alone, but I’m surrounded by a massive audience.” She furrows her brow, staring intently at nothing as she conjures the image in her mind. “Most of the faces are indistinct, but I know who they are. It’s the people of Eorzea. And it’s the people of Ishgard and of Doma and—this time—Norvrandt. But it’s more than that. It’s also Haurchefant and Ysayle. It’s Paplymo and Yotsuyu. Everyone who needs me and everyone I have failed. And every time I have this dream, the crowd only grows bigger.”

G’raha hums thoughtfully, his fingers continuing their path through her hair.

“And what do they do, this crowd?”

“Nothing. They just—wait. They wait for me to _do_ something. And they see me.” She takes a shaky breath. “They see everything as though I were laid bare. Those parts of me that are ugly and vicious, those parts that are broken and hollow, those parts that are weak and scared.”

G’raha shifts and gently pulls Salena onto her back, propping himself up on his elbow so he can see her face. 

She looks up at him with eyes bright with unshed tears. “It terrifies me, you know. Being seen like that. But more than that,” she whispers, “I fear seeing your face in the crowd next.”

He brushes his thumb against her cheek, wiping away the tears that have begun to silently fall. 

“You bear the weight of worlds upon your shoulders, and take on more besides,” G’raha begins quietly. “And in the wake of that burden, those shadows loom so large. I only wish you could witness yourself as I do. I shall expend every last breath in my lungs to the end of my days if I must, telling you of your grace and beauty and strength.

“And as for me,” he continues, “at the very least you needn’t worry on my account. You _have_ saved me. In ways more than I can count and more than I deserve.”

She shakes her head and gives him a watery and lopsided smile. “Sounds then that we are agreed—for the rest of our lives we shall forever be striving to convince the other of their worth.”

He gives her a chaste kiss on the lips. “So we shall.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I 100% lifted the idea of the dream from a TV show, but it fit so perfectly, especially for what I wanted to achieve with this prompt.


	11. Ache

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #15: Ache - v. to have or suffer a continuous, dull pain; to feel eager; yearn; long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow up to “Clinch” and “Nonagenarian.”

Salena drops her towel and twists in front of the mirror to better see herself. She sighs at the sight of the mottled purple bruises trailing up her hip and backside. Running from battle to battle across time and space has kept her fit, but thaumaturgy has always meant exercising her mind more than her body. She’s more soft curves than sharp angles yet begrudgingly acknowledges that she doesn’t mind her developing muscle definition.

She remains undecided though whether she should thank Thancred for convincing her to resume gunbreaker training, or wring his neck.

That is a decision for another time, however.

Salena turns from the mirror and joyfully breathes in the scent of lavender as her room fills with steam from the tub the Pendants’ manager had so graciously brought her. She carefully steps into the bath, easing gently into the hot water. She immediately feels the tension begin to melt from her aching muscles. It’s been far too long since she’s had a proper bath, she thinks, closing her eyes and tilting her head back in euphoria. 

Much to her chagrin, it’s not long before she hears a knocking on her door, and one eye shoots open angrily. _No. Absolutely not. I am not getting out of this tub for any reason._

“Who is it?” she calls out, fully prepared to tell whoever would dare intrude on this most sacred of bath times to sod off.

“It’s, uh—“ G’raha starts on the other side of the door, looking around self-consciously. _The Exarch? G’raha? The luckiest soul in the universe with whom you share your bed?_ “—me,” he finishes lamely. “If now is not a good time…”

“Oh, it’s the perfect time.” Salena smiles devilishly, welcoming the new ache building within her. “Please. Come in.”


	12. Fade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #17: Fade - v. to lose freshness or brilliance of color; to sink away; vanish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge congrats to everyone who participated in #FFXIVWrite2020! I didn’t submit any entries this time around, but it’s been fun playing along. I think I’m gonna keep going - I’ll probably still be writing well into November but I want to try doing as many as I can anyway.
> 
> I was stuck for days on “lucubration” so I finally decided to skip it. Might circle back to it. We'll see.
> 
> CW: implied sexytimes like I did with “Ache” but I think we’re still in G territory. Also, there’s discussion of scars and vague references to events in SB.

Salena stretches languidly, feeling sated and satisfied, all but melted into the pillows beneath her. G’raha lays beside her, his head propped up on one hand.

“And this one?” he asks, reverently tracing his fingertips down her forearm.

“I’m surprised you noticed that one—it feels a lifetime ago now,” she chuckles quietly. “One of my first attempts at spellcasting. I like to think I’ve gotten a bit better since then,” she adds playfully.

“Mm, indeed.” He smiles and gently presses his lips to the faded scar. He shifts his body, now hovering over Salena with his weight resting on his elbows. She smiles serenely, relishing the feel of flesh and crystal against her bare skin. 

G’raha embarks on a path—a scholar’s pilgrimage, eagerly taken, studying the passages of history written on her skin. He peppers kisses along her jaw, nipping at the sensitive skin over her pulse point then soothing the mark with his tongue. From the hollow of her throat, he moves down further still, lingering at the swell of one breast, then the other. 

He pauses at every scar he encounters, inquiring at their origin before tenderly kissing the mark and moving on. She shivers at his deliciously slow and torturous pace and cards her fingers through his hair. 

Making his way down her sternum, he eventually pauses at her navel, his hand splayed across her belly. His thumb strokes the large raised silver slash bisecting her midriff.

“I think I know about this one,” he murmurs. 

Salena gives a pained smile, flushing with embarrassment, but resists the temptation to cover herself. “Courtesy of one Zenos yae Galvus. Not so pretty, is it?”

He shakes his head and meets her eyes. “It’s beautiful.”

Her brow furrows in confusion. 

“It is a part of you,” he says simply. “Therefore, it is beautiful.”

She rolls her eyes fondly. “Sap,” she mutters amused.

G’raha smirks. “Guilty.” He starts at her ribs and follows the scar across her belly to her other hip, tenderly pressing his lips to her bare skin as he goes. “It’s more than that though. It is a badge of honor,” he says between kisses. “You survived. You endured.

“Over time this scar will fade but the deeds of the People’s Champion will not. That you marched onto the field of battle, cast off the yoke of oppression and freed Ala Mhigo… you truly are a remarkable woman.”

Salena gently raises his chin with a finger and looks into his eyes, overwhelmed by the love and adoration she sees.

“But now—“ G’raha grins devilishly and Salena gasps softly as his hands drift lower, “—onto something much more pleasant.”


	13. Panglossian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #18: Panglossian - adj. excessively optimistic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three times G’raha Tia manages his expectations, and one time he dares to hope.

i.

She’s made it across the rift hale and whole and elation rushes through him.

And then it hits him. 

He’s dropped her in the middle of the godsforsaken woods. 

The Crystal Exarch frantically darts out the Tower door, shouting vague reassurances to the startled guards as he takes the stairs two at a time, proper decorum be damned. Thank the Twelve he manages not to trip. 

He’s sweating and panting by the time he reaches the Gate. He attempts to straighten his robes and control his breathing before he’s noticed, lest he seem like a giddy child eagerly running onto the play yard. 

He absently registers that Lyna is saying something but he can hardly give it any attention when there standing before him in the flesh is the Warrior of Light.

She’s every bit the woman he remembers—fierce and elegant and soft all at once, always standing tall despite her short stature—but in some ways she is someone new. Her coat and staff are different, her raven hair is longer than before, and her eyes—a beautiful deep cobalt he remembers so clearly—but there’s change there as well. Her eyes are weary with travel and scan everything with unconcealed distrust. Like an animal carted somewhere new, he thinks, cautiously surveying unfamiliar surroundings. He feels a pang of sympathy as he is reminded of his own arrival on the First and the arduous task of recalibration. 

He holds his traitorous hands behind his back, his fingers positively itching to reach out to her, thankful he manages at least a cordial welcome and introduction. Enough to be getting on with at least.

He invites her to accompany him into the city and she nods her assent, following in stony silence, cold and distant. He needs to be better at this, he thinks, he needs to be a gracious host. Maybe he should begin with apologizing for accidentally dropping her in the woods. 

“I had intended to bring you to my personal quarters,” he starts, “but my aim was… slightly off.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he knows it was the wrong thing to say. ‘Personal quarters.’ He could kick himself.

She bares her teeth, near snarling at his presumption and demanding to know the whereabouts of the other Scions. He revises his earlier assessment—she's not a lost animal, she’s a predator, she’s dangerous, and for the first time he feels her fury aimed directly at him. 

He thought he was ready for this but he should’ve known. Of all the possible ways their first meeting could go, he should have known better than to be swept away in some panglossian pipe dream of star crossed lovers and rekindling romance.

She doesn’t know who he is—can never know who he is—and even if she did, she could not possibly forgive him this deception. 

His heart breaks again and he curses himself for it.

He takes a deep breath and steels his resolve. “Welcome to the Crystarium, my friend.”

ii.

It’s early in the evening and G’raha is walking with purpose to the Pendants—just a friendly check-in, he tries to convince himself—when he finds them sitting together at the Wandering Stairs.

He shouldn’t be surprised. The two hyur have been all but joined at the hip since they reunited but still he feels the angry jealousy rise like bile in his throat followed closely by the overwhelming guilt.

She’s flushed and relaxed and smiling brightly but Thancred is the one who’s given her cause to smile, not him. And Thancred is laughing too, his own cheeks flushed in the dim lamplight, taking a swig from a mug and slapping playing cards on the table. 

He chides himself for failing to come to terms with yet another thing he should’ve known. They’d always been close. Salena once told him that Thancred was a brother to her, but maybe time has changed that too. 

After all, she and G’raha had never put into words what they had, never promised each other. How could they have? When he closed the door of the Tower all those years ago, he was certain that was the last he’d see of her. To plan for anything else would have been cruel and unfair. 

Yet here he is, hiding beneath his cowl, briefly indulging in his selfish thoughts, desperately wishing he was the one sitting at that table with her, enjoying a respite and drinking and playing and laughing. Memories from a lifetime ago come in a massive rush, unbidden and bittersweet.

He gives a short wave of his hand, an unconscious attempt to physically brush the thoughts aside. She is not his to covet. He has no right. 

Certain his presence went unnoticed, G’raha turns on his heel and returns to his Tower alone.

iii.

“Good morning, G’raha Tia.”

She sees him. She knows him. After one hundred years, his name on her lips is one of the greatest gifts she could give him. Gods, how he’s missed her. Her coat is bloody and torn and her cheeks are stained with dirt and tears and she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

His heart swells with adoration and he’s certain he cannot possibly contain every thought and emotion coursing through him. Tears and smiles and apologies and explanations are coming all at once when suddenly his knees give out.  
Thankfully Urianger is quick to keep him from falling and G’raha gladly accepts the help, tenderly holding his ribs with one hand and leaning his weight on the man with his other.

“Please don’t cause yourself further injury,” Salena says with a watery laugh and he can’t help but smile in answer. “We have a lot to discuss but there will be time for that later. For now, pray let us leave this place. I’d say we all have more than earned a hot meal and a bath and— _oh_!” She similarly falters in her steps but is caught by an arm around her waist. 

Thancred props her up, holding her firmly. “Are you alright?” He cups her cheek with his free hand, tilting her face up to his and looking her over with concern. G’raha can’t hear whatever she says in answer but it doesn’t matter anyway. 

He turns his head, closes his eyes, and nods.

It’s okay.

She’s alive.

iv.

An ambush is what it is. He’s carefully skirted her for days—making excuses, changing plans, isolating himself in the Tower—but it would seem the guard on duty granted Salena entrance to his quarters despite his explicit instructions.

He looks up startled when what should have been his dinner is instead a very irate Warrior of Darkness. 

Her arms are crossed over her chest and her voice is icy as she strides into the room. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

He most certainly has, but he’s not inclined to admit it. 

“Not at all my friend.” The lie is bitter in his mouth but he feels cornered with no recourse. G’raha sets his quill down and pushes his chair back from the desk, gesturing to his seated position. “The chirurgeons have bade me rest and rest I have. I hope you’ve also taken some time for your own recovery.”

“I am quite recovered, thank you.” The words are polite but her tone is sharp. “Rest or no, I've seen neither hide nor hair of you for days and not for lack of trying.”

“I admit my convalescence has perhaps been longer than I’d anticipated…”

“You’re hiding from me.”

“I’m doing no such thing,” he says with a nervous laugh.

She arches an eyebrow. “I had to bribe your man at the door with baked goods.”

“Yes, well, I do apologize if I’ve given you the impression—”

“You’ve given me many impressions, Exarch, and more apologies besides.”

He flinches at the use of his title.

She sighs. “I don’t—I just—” Salena starts and stops, shaking her head in her hands in frustration. She takes a deep breath and drops her hands to meet his gaze, her expression softening.

Several moments pass before she speaks again. 

“Did you know I mourned you?” she asks quietly, blinking back unshed tears. “Do the history books recount how my heart absolutely shattered that day? Gods, and I feel a right fool to have not recognized you as soon as I saw you here. So many nights I dreamt of seeing you again, never thinking it possible.”

She walks further into the room until she’s standing directly in front of him. He turns his head and looks down, he can’t bear to look at her when he’s caused her so much pain.

“But now you are here and alive and within arms’ reach, and you speak to me of inspirations and adventures, yet you hide in your Tower, attempting to lock me out when I come to call.”

The sadness in her voice aches deep in his chest and he keeps his eyes trained on the floor. “You’ve always deserved more. Deserved better. Always.” He takes a breath, his hands twisting nervously in his robes. “And after what I’ve done, everything I’ve put you through, I couldn’t ask—” he stammers, “you couldn’t possibly—”

“Raha,” she whispers with a small smile. “I thought you had learned your lesson. You do not get to make my decisions for me.” 

A finger under his chin carefully tilts his head up. He looks at her, brows furrowed in confusion, his thoughts struggling to catch up. 

This must be a dream, he thinks, as Salena’s eyes flutter closed and she leans in to gently brush her lips against his in a shy tentative kiss. His mind blanks in astonishment. She pulls back, eyes wide with embarrassment when he doesn’t respond.

“I’m sorry, I thought— I’ll just go,” she murmurs and steps back before G’raha abruptly stands and reaches for her.

“Wait, please.” He takes hold of Salena’s hands and keeps her close. “Every moment without you has been— all I’ve wanted for a century was—” He sees her hopeful expression, open and wanting, all the while he flounders in his own head, failing to conjure the right words. He sighs in exasperation and his patience snaps.

He crushes his lips to hers. 

Salena’s surprise is momentary—she’s eager to respond in kind. G’raha wraps an arm around her, pulling her flush against him. His crystal hand slides up her neck and buries in her hair. She sighs into his mouth, deepening the kiss as she clutches at his shoulders. He’s dizzy with sensation, the feel of her lips and the scent of her skin awakening long dormant memories. 

He pulls back, breathing heavily, feeling a rush at the sight of her kiss-stung lips and flushed cheeks. “So many times, I wanted to tell you,” he says, resting his forehead against hers. “But I thought it was for the best. I couldn't bear losing you like that again. It was more painful to hope.”

She kisses the corner of his mouth and then his jaw. “I don’t want it to hurt. Not anymore,” she says breathlessly, her tongue tracing the seam of crystal down the column of his throat. “Let me make it not hurt.”

He gasps and pulls her toward his bedroom. “Please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is now the longest single piece I’ve written and I’m a slow writer so this took a hot minute. I didn’t want to tinker too much- I think instead I’ll recycle some of these ideas for a longfic. Who knows! We shall see!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has continued to read. Doing these prompts has done wonders for encouraging my words to flow.❤️


	14. Foible/Argy Bargy/Beam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #21: Foible - n. a minor weakness or eccentricity in someone's character.
> 
> Prompt #22: Argy bargy - n. a lively discussion; argument; dispute.
> 
> Prompt #24: Beam - v. to send out rays of light; to smile with joy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m back! Woo! A massive project at work had completely consumed my every waking moment and I’m glad now to be able to turn my brain to something a little more fun. 
> 
> I accidentally incorporated three prompts into this one and I’m okay with that. 
> 
> Many thanks to @thepapernautilus and @deathflare for inspiring the use of “argy bargy” in this. You two are amazing.
> 
> On a related note, my fill for #19 (“where the heart is”) has taken on a life of its own and will eventually be posted separately as a very spicy one-shot :O

Alisaie watches with glee as her brother digs himself further into a conversational hole with an increasingly tipsy Warrior of Darkness. She knows they love each other as family, but over the years Salena and Alphinaud’s rows have become a spectator sport for the rest of the Scions, and sitting in the audience a particular favorite pastime of hers. 

It’s been a tiring day. She deserves a bit of entertainment.

Alisaie leans her elbow on the wooden table, her chin in one hand, a mug of cider in the other, as her companions volley pointed quips (without any real venom, of course).

“That old bag deserved a dressing down. I fail to see how I am in the wrong,” Salena shrugs, taking another sip of her mead.

“Certainly your intentions were pure but I question your methods,” Alphinaud says carefully. 

“My methods?” she scoffs.

Alisaie gives an amused snort, recalling Salena’s actions that afternoon. Prepared to depart Eulmore following another successful round of negotiations with Chai-Nuzz, the group was waylaid by the Warrior of Darkness’ preternatural ability to sniff out injustice. 

“And you agree with him?” Salena asks astonished.

“Gods, no. Can you imagine?” 

Alphinaud rolls his eyes. “My thanks, dear sister.”

“Any time, brother,” she returns with a smirk. She wholeheartedly supported Salena’s swift intervention when she saw a noblewoman verbally accost a girl presumably in her employ. She only wishes she could’ve helped. 

Alisaie grabs her mug to take another drink only to find it empty and politely motions to the barkeep across the Wandering Stairs for another round.

“I won’t stand for such behavior. They’re not indentured servants anymore, Alphie.” 

He groans at the moniker. “And you shan’t hear me object. My point is simply that drawing your staff amongst the crowd was perhaps... a bit much.”

“I didn’t _draw_ my staff; I just… had it in my hand,” she says with poorly feigned innocence. “I can’t help that I’m intimidating. Warrior of Darkness and all. It’s part of the job,” she says, waving her hand at nothing in particular. 

“Indeed, you are quick to intimidate. Truly ‘tis one of your foibles. One of which you both share, as it were,” he adds with a pointed raise of his eyebrow. 

“Oh, ‘one of’? You’re saying I have many?” Salena huffs indignantly, crossing her arms over her chest. 

Alisaie cackles as Alphinaud begins to protest. “All I am saying is that a spot of diplomacy couldn’t hurt!”

“What would you have me do then? Shall I pen politely worded notes? _Pardon me, Ifrit—_ ” she starts with a saccharine lilt, “ _—would you be so kind as to vacate the premises at your earliest convenience? Best wishes and warmest regards—”_

“Twelves’ sake, Salena. There’s a time and a place for such measures. The people there are learning, and things are changing. Lest you forget, I bore witness in Ishgard, same as you. Culture does not transform overnight.”

“To hells with culture!”

The two continue to bicker with increasing volume, oblivious to the barkeep’s approach with their next round of drinks. 

“Are you lot alrigh’ here?” the towering galdjent asks kindly, shifting the tray in his hands. “I ain’t meanin’ to intrude but it sounds like quite the argy bargy from my post.”

“I’m sorry, a _what_?” Alisaie asks with delight.

“Uh, you know… A domestic? A row?” he says scratching the back of his head. “A lovers’ quarrel?”

Salena muffles her shriek of frustration in her hands as Alphinaud shrinks in on himself, blushing furiously.

By contrast, Alisaie beams as she reaches out to accept the proffered tray of mugs. “Apologies for the disruption, ser. My companions tend to get a little excited but they promise to behave themselves, don’t they?” she says turning to the others. 

Alphinaud nods mutely as Salena thunks her head to the table, raising her hand in a thumbs-up. 

“Well, alrigh’ then. Have a good’un,” the barkeep says, walking away with a nod and a smile. 

“All the way across the tavern with that one. I’m impressed.” Alisaie grins, clinking her mug against Salena’s. “Good show, you two. Good show.”


End file.
